


Our Today

by enviropony



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/pseuds/enviropony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Crystal Cave, Merlin begins to dream a thousand different futures. Morgana figures prominently, and not in the way he would have predicted.</p>
<p>A companion story to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gclVrYIoOjI">Our Today</a> by <a href="http://mangacat201.livejournal.com/">mangacat201</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Today

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** What can I say? When I saw mangacat201's amazing vid, my heart broke for Merlin and Arthur. Who Wants to Live Forever is one of my all-time favorite songs, and when I saw I'd gotten this prompt, I wasn't sure I could do the vid justice. I still don't believe I have. 
> 
> This is the third rewrite, made all the more challenging by the fact that 5x13 made the AU scenarios I'd been exploring almost completely canon. This versions bears little resemblance to the first. /ramble
> 
> [Our Today](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gclVrYIoOjI) by [mangacat201](http://mangacat201.livejournal.com/)
> 
> A high-quality download is available [here](http://www.divshare.com/download/23731253-5d5)

_Today_

After the disaster that springs from the Crystal Cave - while Morgana begins plotting anew, and Kilgharrah refuses his call - Merlin begins to dream the future. 

He doesn't know that it's the future, at first. He doesn't even understand that anything's changed - that it's not just new iterations of the 'ways Arthur can possibly die' dream - until he's woken up panting, covered in chill sweat, and realized that he has no context whatsoever for the clothes dream-Arthur is wearing, or the square he's walking through. The carefree, unguarded expression on Arthur's face is almost as foreign; Merlin can think of only a few times he's seen the prince so honestly happy. 

Though he marks the dream, and subsequent similar ones, as odd, Merlin still doesn't realize exactly what they mean until he follows Arthur down to the vaults one day, where all the forbidden artifacts are stored, and the Crystal of Neathid reaches for him like it's screaming. 

Merlin staggers, drops to his knees, and can't focus on Arthur's mocking voice - which slides quickly into puzzled concern - for the frightful pull on his magic. He can all but see the visions the crystal wants to draw for him, despite that it is wrapped in cloth and locked in a box on the other side of the chamber. Waves of unfamiliar sound assault him: a rushing roar that repeats over and over, blasts of noise like trumpets and braying donkeys, music from some unfamiliar instrument. It all jumbles together in a cacophony, one that Merlin's hands clamping over his ears do nothing to abate. He curls into himself, trying to escape the noise, the speckled gray of the stone beneath him fading in and out of his sight. He moans, or thinks he does, because his mouth opens and his throat vibrates, but all he can hear is that dreadful, terrifying din. He's vaguely aware of being manhandled, suddenly, jerked in some direction - up or down or sideways, it's impossible to tell anymore - and tries to get his feet under him. He doesn't manage, because abruptly it's all too much, and he finally passes out.

\- - -

Merlin wakes up in his own bed, disoriented, head pounding like he'd been at the wine the night before. It's dark outside, and rather late judging by the position of the moon, but there is a slash of light beneath his door, and the low murmur of voices. Merlin scrubs his hands down his face, pinches the bridge of his nose viciously - it does nothing for the headache - and struggles out of bed. He dearly hopes there's some water left over from the day, because his mouth feels like sawdust, and he doesn't think he can make it to the well, or even the kitchens and back, without collapsing.

"-a rather generous offer, all things considered," Arthur is saying when Merlin opens the door and stumbles down the stairs into the main chamber. He looks up, and Merlin catches a quickly-masked flash of worry before he continues, "Finally decided to stop shirking your duties, Merlin? You're just in time to help me to bed." Merlin doesn't have it in him to do anything but glare weakly in reply. Arthur's arrogant façade slips, and he asks, "How do you feel? You looked half-dead when I dragged you up here."

Merlin shrugs, and collapses onto the bench across from Arthur. He turns to Gaius, and mumbles, "Water?" in what he's sure is a pathetically hopeful voice.

Gaius pours him a cupful from the pitcher on the table, and asks, "Are you in pain?"

"Headache," Merlin rasps in between sips of water. He's so thirsty he could gulp the whole cup, but he's done that before, and suffered the stomach cramps to remember it. 

"I'll get you something, my boy." Gaius pats him on the arm as he rises to hunt for the right medicine. Merlin closes his eyes and drinks steadily. 

After he's swallowed all the water and the headache potion, Merlin thinks he can handle Arthur's mocking barbs, and meets his eyes again. "Thank you for bringing me up here."

Arthur huffs like a put-upon steward. "Did you expect me to leave you down there?" His expression is indignant, as if he's been insulted.

"No, actually," Merlin admits with the cheekiest smirk he can muster, "but I wouldn't want to take such things as my due. Could lead to a swelled head."

Arthur takes the words as they were intended, and replies, "Some of us _are_ due such consideration." He tilts his head very pointedly at Merlin. "And some of us are just very lucky."

"Yes, you are a lucky man, aren't you, sire?" Merlin shoots back, and chuckles as Arthur's eyes widen in mostly-mock outrage.

Gaius cuts in before Merlin gets to hear what choice retort Arthur's about to come up with. "Forgive me, sire, but it is rather late, and Merlin needs more rest. I'll send word in the morning if he's not well enough to work."

Arthur startles, casts a glance out the window, and says, "Yes, of course, Gaius." He stands, and moves to the door. "Thank you for your thoughts on Lord Godwyn. Your insight is much appreciated."

"It's my pleasure, Arthur," Gaius says warmly, and Merlin wonders what, exactly, the two of them had been discussing when he'd woken. 

Arthur gives a small, pleased smile, which morphs into a smirk as his gaze moves to Merlin. "Do try to accomplish _something_ tomorrow, Merlin. I don't pay you to stay in bed all day."

Merlin rolls his eyes, even though it hurts, and says pointedly, "Good _night_ , Arthur."

Arthur snorts. "Good night, Gaius." 

Gaius bids him a good night in return, and waits until he's shut the door behind him to whirl toward Merlin and demand, "What the devil happened, my boy?" He looks extremely concerned, as if he knows it has something to do with magic.

"The Crystal of Neathid," Merlin explains, rubbing at his temples. "It was trying to show me something."

"Merlin, I told you not to go near that thing," Gaius admonishes. "One would think you would have learned, especially after what happened after the Crystal Cave."

"I _wasn't_ near it," Merlin protests, though he's only a little offended that Gaius would automatically assume the worst. It's usually a fair assumption. "It was clear on the other side of the vault, but I could feel it pulling at me all the way from the stairs. I'd barely set foot in the chamber before it reached for me."

"Reached for you?" Gaius echoes, frowning and concerned.

"That's what it felt like," Merlin says. "It was pulling at my magic, trying to make me come to it, to force me to watch what it wanted to show."

"And what did you see?" Gaius asks, his frown deepening.

"I didn't see anything," Merlin replies. "I just heard a lot of noise that didn't make sense; eventually it got to be too much, and I collapsed."

"Hmmm," is all that gets him in return, and it sends a shiver down Merlin's spine, because that is not a hum of curiosity; _that_ is a hum of worried frustration.

"Do you know what happened, Gaius?" Merlin asks, though he's not sure he can handle the answer.

"Well, my boy," Gaius says with a sigh, "it looks like you've some fairly strong Seer powers, after all."

 

_Tomorrow_

That strange instrument is playing again, short, echoing notes that pick out an aching and melancholy tune. Merlin sits at a table under a white, brightly lit tent, looking out into misty darkness, scratching at something wrapped uncomfortably around his neck.

"Oh, just take it off," a voice says, and he startles when he turns toward it. Morgana sits across from him, and leans forward even as she continues, "There's nobody left but family. We won't be offended." It does not occur to Merlin to stop her as she reaches across the table and expertly untwists the bow-tie. "You look like a goofball in it, anyway."

"I think he looks perfectly charming," Arthur says, coming up behind Merlin, and Merlin had known it was going to be him even before he spoke. Merlin always knows where Arthur is, now.

Morgana snorts. "Of course you do. What are you two still doing here, anyway?"

Arthur's hand comes down on Merlin's shoulder, warm and heavy, and Merlin thinks, _Mine_ , while Arthur says, "Waiting."

"For what?" Morgana asks, her mouth curving into a falsely innocent smirk. "An instruction manual?"

Merlin laughs. "Haven't needed one of those in a long time." He glances at his watch, though he doesn't need to, and says, "Half an hour." He leans forward - Arthur's hand stays solidly on his shoulder - and takes one of Morgana's hands. He brings it to his lips, kisses it gently, and murmurs, "Thank you."

Morgana frowns, a little wary. "You already said that during the speech."

"You'll understand in a bit," Merlin assures, and tightens his grip briefly, hoping to convey comfort.

Morgana's worry doesn't abate, and Merlin wishes he hadn't said anything. Hours ago, she'd been a laughing, carefree presence across from him, hair long and simply styled, coat wrapped around her shoulders to ward off a sudden chill. Now she's put her hair up, and added a thick scarf to her outfit - "An October wedding, really, boys!" - and her countenance begins to look troubled, almost guilty.

"It'll be alright, Morgan," Arthur says, his free hand carding gently through Merlin's hair. "I promise."

Morgana nods, as if she knows what he's on about, and looks out into the darkness.

Merlin knows she'll be the first to remember.

 

_Today_

Merlin growls silently as Arthur helps Morgana into the castle, completely oblivious to the danger she poses. Things have turned out for the best: Gwen and Elyan are safe, and Arthur, of course, has survived another magical assassination attempt. It should never have gotten so far, though. Morgana should be on _their_ side, damn it.

Merlin knows his judgement is seriously clouded when it comes to Morgana. On the one hand, he's imminently cognizant of the witch's scheming, and the cold, mocking glares she sends him when nobody else is looking. On the the other, Merlin's dreams tell him that Morgana is on their side - will be on their side - and has sacrificed - will sacrifice - to a degree that Merlin finds hard to credit just now. What exactly she's sacrificed, on Arthur's behalf, he doesn't yet understand. He doubts that knowing it will make separating the present and the future any easier.

As soon as Merlin's finished with his his chores, he slips down to the library and sneaks into the forbidden chamber where the magical texts are stored. He's been spending a lot of time here of late, trying to understand the dreams, and this newest power that Emrys has. 

He wants to speak to Kilgharrah, but is leery of trying to summon the dragon, who has to date refused the Call, and left Merlin standing out in the field all night long, alone. Merlin learns a little more about dragons and Dragonlords every time he meets - or doesn't - with Kilgharrah. What he's learned most recently is that one as old as the Great Dragon is clever enough to ignore a summons, even when it is a Command, so long as he is a sufficient distance removed; he can simply pretend he does not hear it, magic though it may be.

Flying magical library that Kilgharrah is, he can't help Merlin if he isn't here, so to the forbidden chamber Merlin goes, and amongst the books he settles. He learns more about the gift of Sight than he ever really wanted to, and he understands that what he has is not an inborn talent, but simply a consequence of his vast magic. Merlin will never have the control over his Sight that Seers like Cassandra, Taliesin, and Morgana come by naturally. The Crystal of Neathid will always impose itself on him; he will never be able to channel its power the way true Seers can. He will always see a thousand possible futures, and except in rare cases, learn only through long and painful experience which of them is the most likely to come true. It will never, ever be easy for him.

There is one up side, though Merlin counts is less and less of a good thing the longer the dreams continue - the further into the future he sees: He can block the visions, if he wants to. The spell is not long, more intent than technique, and the truth is that Merlin could have done it already, could have cut himself off from the myriad possibilities, if he'd _had_ the intent. 

He hadn't. He doesn't.

Because his oddest dreams are some of those rare cases - he's not sure how he knows, but he _knows_ down to his bones - where what he sees is the most likely possible future. 

Merlin sees an eternity stretching out before him, anchored on one end by death and tragedy, and by renewal and unity on the other. He sees that being Emrys literally means being _emrys_ , immortal, unending. He sees beyond the far anchor, and shies away, because what is there is an absolute culmination that terrifies him. 

He'd never wanted to know what the distant tomorrow of his dreams looked like, but now that he does, he cannot let it go. 

It is the only thing that will get him through the vast, empty span between one anchor and the next.

 

_Tomorrow_

Merlin stammers his way through his little speech, shifting this way and that as if he can escape the focus of the camera. When he plays back the video, he winces. Definitely not that shirt, and goddess, but he needs a haircut. 

He is sixteen hundred years old. He should not be as nervous as a boy on his first date.

"Did you get the ring?" Gwen asks later, eyeing her reflection in the camera lens, turning away with a secretive little smile. Merlin has left it sitting on top of the planter where he'd set it up, and the professional in Gwen is drawn to it. "And why don't you get a real camera? Lance wants to sell his 5dII, along with the steadycam harness. He'll give you a great price on them." 

"This is a real camera," Merlin protests, and fishes around in his pocket. "I don't need anything fancier." He pulls out the red, gold-trimmed box, and opens it. "What do you think?"

What's inside is an elaborate affair, more a miniature platinum sculpture than a ring, with a highly detailed, intricate design that smoothly blends several different themes. It has taken over a year to complete, with Merlin considering and rejecting ten different designs, leaving Elyan increasingly frustrated and short-tempered. 

Gwen gazes inside the box in rapt admiration. "This is different from the last time Elyan showed me. It's... It's you. It's you and Arthur, together." She looks up at Merlin. "He'll love it, I know he will. Don't be so nervous."

Merlin giggles, feeling a little light-headed. "I think I'm entitled. I've been waiting for this, well, just about forever."

 

_Today_

Merlin dreams a thousand thousand moments, bits of time that all connect to one another by a hundred different threads. He sees Arthur pull the dragon-forged sword from a stone, and knows it is not that time yet - the sword is still in the lake. He sees Morgana, cruel and cold, black eyes, black heart, utter poison to everyone around her, including herself, and sees how she can be restored to them - and the myriad ways that she is already lost. He sees Mordred, determined, resolved, loyal, stubborn, faithful, faithless... and always, in the end, the agent of Arthur's destruction. He sees the ways it could have been a mercy to Arthur, and weeps to know that most of those chances have passed.

He dreams a betrayal, in candle-lit gloom, and then he dreams it again, and again, and cherishes the memory when he wakes, because it is so sweet he cannot let it go - and so impossible, in light of Arthur's love for Gwen. Months later, he dreams all the ways that Gwen finds out, and all the ways it breaks Arthur from Merlin... and still he cannot let it go. 

It is not one of those rare visions, though, one of those near-certain ones, but Merlin tortures himself trying to think of ways to make it true just to keep the pain fresh. Pain is better than the hollow, nagging thought that maybe that distant anchor of his eternity is too far away to bear. 

Merlin has seen Lancelot die more times than he has seen him fight, by the time it happens for real. He grieves with the others, but it is not for the physical loss. What he grieves for is the sights Lancelot will never see: the Round Table where every man sits equal, the campfire where his brothers rest after a long ride, the men who go into battle under the bright red banner. Merlin grieves for how much better these things could have been, had Lancelot survived to be a part of them. 

Lancelot's survival is the basis of Merlin's betrayal, though, and he is bitterly relieved that they will all be spared the pain. It is a cruel thing to understand, and accept, how the loss of a beloved friend is the best of the possible paths that lie ahead. 

Merlin's never felt so old before, and he thinks it will be a long time before he feels young again.

\- - -

"The white dragon bodes well for Albion, for the land you and Arthur will build together," Kilgharrah declares, so sure of himself that Merlin knows Fate will make him pay for it somehow. It's another thing he's learned about dragons: an excess of pride has ever been their downfall.

He hasn't told Kilgharrah about the dreams. By the time the dragon had deigned to speak to him again, Merlin had found his own answers to, and his own sort of peace with, his unpolished Sight. He's certain that anything Kilgharrah has to say now will taint this. As much as he loves Kilgharrah, he knows that the Great Dragon is not his guide to Destiny any longer.

Merlin has to master that path on his own.

"I'm going to take her to Camelot with me," he says, and winces at Kilgharrah's startled roar.

"Are you mad?" the Great Dragon demands. "After all the effort you put in to protect her, you will take her right into the most dangerous place she could possibly be?"

Merlin scowls. "It's not the most dangerous place." He's Seen that, by the goddess. Even a swift axe blow in Camelot is better than some of the fates that await Aithusa, not that Merlin intends for _that_ to happen, either. 

"This is a mistake, Merlin," Kilgharrah warns. "Dragons are not meant for _castles_." He snarls the last word like a curse.

"It's just until I know I can let her out on her own," Merlin says. "Try not to worry."

Kilgharrah snorts twin jets of fire in his disdain. "Is there nothing I can say-"

"No," Merlin cuts in, with just a hint of Command in his tone, and scoops the baby dragon into his arms. 

Kilgharrah rears back, affronted, and gracelessly accepts the warning. "Very well. I hope I do not have to say 'I told you so,' once more."

Merlin nods. "Me, too."

\- - -

Hiding a newly-hatched dragon in Camelot is not nearly as difficult as it should be. Merlin houses Aithusa in his room, where only Gaius ever really goes, and where she can slip out the window to fly free in the dark of night. He feeds her chicken and greens stolen from the kitchens, shows her magic in the evenings before bed, and lets her learn all the best insults Gaius knows, which the old physician has apparently been storing up for occasions just like this.

"Inconsiderate, uncooperative, addle-pated, ignorant - Get down from there!" 

Merlin's not entirely sure who the first part of that particular tirade is directed at, but the second part is clearly meant for Aithusa, who is hanging upside down from the top of a bookshelf up in the loft, clawing intently at one particular volume. She's far too young to form complete sentences in the Dragontongue yet, let alone read a human language, so Merlin suspects this isn't going to end well for the book. 

"Aithusa!" he hisses, Commanding, and she looks petulantly down at him, leather-bound tome teetering precariously against her little claws. "Put it back."

Aithusa blinks, not quite understanding, and Merlin makes a pushing motion with his hand. "Push it back." The light goes on in the infant dragon brain, and the book is slid determinedly back into place. "Good girl," Merlin says.

"Nice one," rasps a voice that definitely does _not_ belong to Gaius. "What else does she do?"

Merlin feels the blood drain from his face as he turns to face Gwaine, who's leaning casually in the clearly-not-locked doorway. He's actually dreamt this scenario, once or twice, or some version of it, but it had not felt like one of _those_ , and he hadn't really though it would come true.

He thinks he'll learn not to assume, one of these days.

"What did you need, Sir Gwaine?" Gaius asks, like Gwaine did not just see Merlin Command a baby dragon, one who is even now clambering down the shelves, eager to meet a brand new human. 

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, and though he will never be a master of the art the way Gaius is, it does manage to impart a message: 'Did you think I'd ignore the dragon?' 

"Gwa?" Aithusa asks, perching on the railing of the book loft.

Sheep as a lamb, Merlin thinks, and says. "Gwaine. His name is Gwaine. Close the door, would you please?"

Gaius turns a disapproving scowl on Merlin while Gwaine does as requested. Merlin smirks, and gives a rueful shrug. 'Did you think he'd ignore the dragon?'

Maybe Gaius is getting a little old for this...

"And what's your name, little bit?" Gwaine calls up, then looks equal parts alarmed and impressed when Aithusa launches off the loft railing and stoops to an awkward, hard-braking landing on the table.

"Her name is Aithusa," Merlin answers. "She's just learning to talk."

"Merlin," Gwaine begins, glancing between Merlin, Gaius and Aithusa, "is this perchance what was inside the egg that was destroyed at the Tomb of Ashkanar?"

Merlin stares back blankly. "Can't have been, since that egg was, you know, destroyed."

Gwaine snorts. "Yes, of course. So it's not a dragon, then?"

"Oh, no," Merlin draws out, "she's most certainly _not_ a dragon."

"Ah," Gwaine says. "That's that settled, then." And he plunks himself in front of Aithusa. "Who's a cute little dragon? You are!"

"Cuuuute?" Aithusa preens, sensing the compliment.

"Very cute," Gwaine assures.

"Cute!" the little dragon repeats with enthusiasm, and Merlin dearly, dearly regrets that his father ever met his mother.

\- - -

Merlin knows that he'll most likely kill Agravaine before the year is out, and wonders if he can stomach speeding along the man's demise. Cold-blooded murder still sits uneasily with him, though, so the man continues to live, and be a plague upon the kingdom. Arthur will not hear a word against him, even when knight after knight pulls the king aside to express disquiet or concern. 

Such is the pull of blood to a Pendragon, and Merlin begins to comprehend why Morgana will sacrifice, if not what. He's a little awed, when the why finally becomes clear to him, with a solid surety that This Will Happen. He'll wonder later if that's what keeps him from succeeding in his efforts to thwart her plans, or if he was bound to fail no matter what. 

Whatever the cause, and despite Gwaine taking up Lancelot's mantle of magic confidant and co-conspirator, Merlin fails utterly to convince Arthur of Agravaine's treachery. He gets himself kidnapped and possessed by a snake, nearly kills Arthur, and does not end Morgana when he fights her - yes, most likely because he knows she will get better, after she gets immeasurably worse. Then he allows himself to be tricked into inattention just long enough for Gaius to be kidnapped and tortured, and almost loses his new ally before he's really gained him when Gwaine dives in, sword swinging, and tries to kill Alator's sworn guardsman. They only just manage to keep Agravaine from slitting Gaius' throat, but still Merlin can't bring himself to kill the man: he throws him into a wall to get him away from his uncle, and leaves him there to live or die as he will. Of course the filthy bastard survives, completely unaware of Merlin's role in the matter. 

Merlin nurses his bruised self-confidence over a mug of mead with Gwaine, and wonders why the goddess thinks _he_ is the best possible Emrys there can be.

\- - -

One day, not long after the trip that will make the knights forever duck their heads in shame, Arthur and Morgana both hatch plans, and Merlin's dreamed betrayal begins to coalesce into reality.

It turns out that Lancelot doesn't need to actually be alive to start that particular barrel crashing down a hill.

"I really think you should reconsider," Merlin says, turning down the bed, frowning at Arthur's reflection in the glass of the window.

The reflection twists into a snarl. "Did I not tell you to shut up?"

Merlin flinches, straightens the pillows, and leaves.

He lets Aithusa go that night, with a plea that she follow Gwen, and ensure her safety as best she can without getting her own self into trouble. Gwaine pouts, Gaius breathes a sigh of relief, and Aithusa chirps in excited delight as she takes to the air. Merlin will not see her for months, but her path is safely set - as safely as he _can_ set it, anyway - and he's reasonably confident that those worst possible futures will not come to be. 

Aithusa will not suffer the betrayal of Merlin's inadequate attention. 

Arthur, meanwhile, _will_ suffer, for an excess thereof. 

Gwen, at least, will not know for many years, and it will never torture her the way it will Arthur.

 

_Morgana's Today_

Merlin watches the boat drift away, and cannot hold back his grief. This is not the way things were supposed to go. He'd Seen so many versions of this day, this awful ending, but none of them were meant to happen, damn it. Not so soon!

He lifts a shaking hand, bitter and desolate and furious, but a voice from above stops him before he can cast the spell.

"Don't light it," Morgana calls, sitting astride a horse atop the cliff of the adjacent bank. "Just wait."

Merlin stares up at her wordlessly, but she offers nothing beyond, "Just wait and see."

They track the progress of the boat across the water, and Merlin can feel the magic of Avalon reaching out for Arthur's body. The veil between the kingdoms parts like fog rolling in, bringing visions of a strange and glorious land. 

"It is not his time," Freya's voice drifts out of the mist, echoed by a hundred Sidhe voices. "The sacrifice is accepted. _Artos Rí_ shall reign until the Druid wakes."

A sharp wind scuds across the lake, turning the bow of the boat back toward Merlin.

Above him, Morgana's breath hitches. "Mordred will sleep for twenty years," she exhales, and topples from her horse right into the water.

And Merlin finally understands what the last High Priestess of the Old Religion has sacrificed.

No mortal may look upon the shores of Avalon, and live.

Without its High Priestess, the Old Religion will founder, and fade.

 

_Today_

Merlin hovers like a worried mother, for days and weeks; inch by inch, Arthur gives ground. By the time the Druid boy possesses Elyan, Arthur's all but admitted that he needs Merlin at his side. That night, once they've settled the weary Elyan on a cot in Gaius' room, Merlin sleeps on a pallet in the king's chambers.

The next night is unseasonably chilly, and Arthur, falsely grudging, invites him to share the bed. 

When they find themselves curled into each other in the grey light of dawn, fingers tangled together, neither can bring himself to act embarrassed, or surprised. Merlin has known this was coming since the day Gwen dragged her cartful of belongings out of Camelot. 

Arthur has finally acknowledged his weakness, his need, and surrendered to it.

\- - -

They do not speak of it, but they lie together every night for a week. Merlin drags his guilt around like a sack of laundry by day, and indulges his fantasies - the sweet visions he'd tortured himself with the year before - by evening candlelight. 

Arthur just needs, pleading for acceptance, even affirmation of his flaws, with wide, sorrowful eyes and a mouth set in determined silence. It takes all of Merlin's focus, every clever and worshipful touch, to wring a gasp or a moan from those taut lips; Merlin knows it's a consequence of guilt, but there is nothing he can say or do to take that burden away from Arthur - not with his own sack of troubles waiting by the door.

There is a messenger from Nemeth on the eight day, and Merlin realizes that there will be no eighth night. Arthur's mind turns to politics and strategy, and does not turn from them again until the morning when Merlin demands he follow his heart, confused and broken as it is.

Arthur will not know for more than a millennium that Merlin isn't talking of Gwen, but of himself.

He will _never_ know how hard it is for Merlin not to get on his knees and beg for his king to choose him.

 

_Morgana's Today_

"I will have no children," Morgana tells Merlin, "but he might. Our line must continue."

"You hate your Pendragon blood," Merlin challenges, confused.

"I will have no children," Morgana repeats, resting a bitter gaze on the still, shrouded form of Mordred, which lies between them on the altar. "Every other line I am heir to is dead. Only through Arthur can I hope to leave a proper legacy."

Merlin snorts derisively. "You're a High Priestess. You can't die. You have an eternity to leave whatever legacies you like." He knows this well. His own endless wait stretches before him like the open sky.

Morgana jerks her head in a single, terse negation. "I thought I could create something magnificent," she says. "I saw a world where magic reigned, and Mordred carried my will to every corner of the land. But that time-"

"-passed us by years ago," Merlin finishes, and smirks at her startled, suspicious glare. "You're not the only one who Sees, Morgana."

"Then you know that it will be centuries before I create anything of worth," Morgana says. "I am not willing to wait that long. I wish my legacy to begin today!" She lifts her arms, and completes the ritual that will bind Mordred to his prison of sleep. "I do not know how long he will be trapped here, but I know it will buy time for Arthur."

Merlin shivers, and looks toward the mouth of the cave. Though he cannot see, he knows that out in the white of noonday sunlight, Arthur tends their campfire. He feeds another log to the flames, and presses his palm to a wound that hasn't begun to heal, despite two weeks of Merlin's most determined care.

A wound, Merlin will soon realize, that was never _meant_ to heal.

 

_Forever_

It doesn't take Merlin long at all to understand that Morgana hadn't sacrificed anything in trading her power and immortality for Arthur's life.

She hadn't sacrificed. 

She'd made good her escape.

 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> The instrument Merlin hears is a piano. The music is [Forever](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om6x9IE1BSo), the instrumental version of Who Wants to Live Forever.


End file.
